Tea with a Side of Blood
by BuBuWinter
Summary: Not every wizard is the destined "Savior of the Spiral". Everyone has their own story, their own character, be it for good or for evil. (One-shot collection. 100 Themes Challenge. Accepting requests.)
1. Introduction

**Introduction:**

"_When a woman is talking to you, listen to what she says with her eyes." _-Victor Hugo

* * *

The echoing noise of heels clicking against the stone-worked floor had warned Diego soon enough. Quickly he shut the book he had been reading, shuffled some papers about the desk to make things look convincing enough, quickly shot to his feet - or rather hooves - and stood at his full length. The Unicorn didn't like that noise. He didn't like the cause of it much better.

Actually, he was fairly certain the cause was worse. Much worse

There was a rapping on the door, a rhythmic three-course pounding before the door was promptly opened, the handle quite literally leaving a dent in his office wall. And there, standing in the doorway, was none other than his _lovely _Battlematron associate, Scruvy Whiteshard. Or she would have been lovely had it not been for the angry glint in her heterochromia red-blue eyes and the frown upon her lips.

_Ah, so it's one of _those _days._

"Diego," her raspy voice was a quiet hiss as she stomped over to the Duelmaster, who merely raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. "You need to set more restrictions."

"To what?" A mixture of the hot breath blowing into her face and the irritation that came with his calm, sarcastic tone caused Scurvy to scrunch her nose up in mingled disgust and irritation. She glared daggers up at the anthro, her face turning a mild shade of red.

It was _definitely _one of those days.

"To the PvP guidelines, s'wit!" The silver-haired women snapped. Diego frowned, leaning back against his chair and examining the Theurgist in front of him. Some ten or so years ago, Scurvy would have started a petition to end restrictions to provide a more realistic battle simulation, a better system of training and preparing for the real world and it's many dangers. Now it seemed to be nothing _but _restrictions.

"There are enough restrictions set in place, Kerstin." He replied calmly. Scurvy huffed and turned around pointedly, crossing her arms.

"You would say that," she glanced over her shoulder, "even though there's a new way of cheating high rankers use."

"And you think battles in the real world are fair?"

"But-"

"Kerstin!" Strangely enough, raising his voice was enough to stop Scurvy's argument of "PvP is not the real world". She let out a quiet sigh, her shoulders sagging.

"No, they aren't."

Diego knew something had happened to her, something that took away her optimism, her carelessness, and replaced them with cruel professionalism and bitterness. He didn't know what had happened to her - and he didn't have the right to know, considering their current relationship. But whatever it was, t was enough to shatter their relationship to the point he could only refer to her by her real name. Despite himself, he felt pity welling up in him, and reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

Then he remembered who he was dealing with and forced his hand back to his side.

Beyond the office in the adjoining hall, a young girl with fluffy blue hair and garbed in standard red apprentice robes. She looked quite scared, amber eyes wide as she looked about her, hugging her wand to her chest. Obviously she had gotten lost in the massive building. When she saw the two heads of the Arena, she seemed to relax slightly, and hesitantly she approached the previously slammed-open door.

"E-excuse me, but I seem to have gotten lost. Can...you show me the way to the Mooshu Arena? Please?"

Scurvy glanced pointedly at Diego, and whatever sense of pity he felt for her vanished with the cold look in her multicolored eyes. Shaking his head in mild exasperation, he turned to the young girl and smiled warmly.

"Of course, my lady! My associate and I would love to help you!" If looks could kill, Diego would have been a rotting corpse with the ensuing glare he received at the word 'we'. She didn't argue though, seeing it as an obligation to act more mature around students. Content Diego rested a hand on the girl's shoulder, taking the lead to the Mooshu-themed arena, with Scurvy trailing a few paces behind.

"Is there a reason as to why you need the Mooshu arena? If you're fighting, you would have clocked out by now."

"I'm watching bis sis duel," the young girl explained, relaxing as the walking, talking unicorn spoke to her. "She's a Grandmaster Pyro! I want to be like her someday. She's the best fighter ever!"

"I bet she is!" Diego laughed with a slight glance at Scurvy. She looked completely indifferent about the situation, and shrugging he turned back as they approached the main doors to the Mooshu arena. He opened the doors, and scurrying to the front seats the girl called back a quick thank you. As Scurvy turned to leave, Diego grabbed her arm, looking at her pointedly.

"We are going to watch." Not waiting for a response, he pushed her towards the last row of spectator seats, and grumbling to herself she reluctantly obliged.

It was a two-on-two match of the same level range. Two girls were stationed on the left, including the young girl's presumed sister, and on the right two guys, both of which were Conjurors, so blading and shielding proved rather fruitless, which explained the lack of boosts. There were two types of battles at the Arena: hands-on and magic-only. This was a magic only duel.

"Do you know any of them?" Diego asked his associate out of blatant curiosity. Scurvy nodded absently.

"The boys are Liam and Finn Nightstrike, brothers who have the arrogance of Drake and with the strength to match. Excellent when teamed up, but lacking otherwise. The Diviner girl is Alura Leafsword, the only storm-using mage in a family of Theurgists. Strong offense, low defense. The Pyromancer is Tara Longshot. Well-rounded and a damn good battler, popular too."

"Like you?" A pause.

"Perhaps...back in the day." Scurvy agreed solemnly, running a hand through her silvery hair with an absent look in her eyes. Deciding not to press further, he turned his gaze back to the battle, a small smile gracing his features.

"I remember when you first joined the Arena. The smuggest apprentice I've yet to see, and a Theurgist no less." Diego murmured thoughtfully, reflecting back to that day. Surprisingly, she smiled. It was faint, and in the dim light of the arena it was hardly noticeable, but he saw it.

"I remember how I first introduced myself to you…" Scurvy allowed a slight chuckle to escape her mouth, and even Diego smirked at the memory.

"How did it go again? 'Duelmaster my butt. I bet once I level up some more,"

"I'll be tons better than you." The last part they chorused together softly in amused smile vanished for Scurvy's lips, her eyes half-closing in thought. Diego frowned.

"What happened, Scurv.?" Suddenly, the battlematron stood, smoothing out her velvet green skirt and closing her eyes.

"It's Kerstin," she murmured, half in mild anger, half in...sadness? He couldn't be sure. "And it's something you don't need to know." She turned to make her way back into the halls, but before she passed she glanced at him through her one red eye. "Oh, and Diego,"

"Yes?" Aqua eyes met multicolored ones for a split second, a mix of memories and emotions swirling in their depths.

"Introduce yourself to more combatants. Fight more. It'll give you something to do other than brooding in your office."

With that, Scurvy left, leaving Diego alone to watch as the Pyromancer struck down her opponents with a single spell."


	2. Complicated

**Complicated**

"_Oh Luke, you wild, beautiful thing. You crazy handful of nothin'." - _Dragline (George Kennedy) in "Cool Hand Luke"

Brecken had never been in a prison before. It was...grimey.

And unwelcoming.

And smelly.

The blue-haired girl wrinkled her nose in obvious distaste, adjusting the fedora atop her head as if to distract herself from her unpleasant surroundings, though it was to no avail. The guard guiding her through the muggy halls glanced over his shoulder, marine-colored eyes sparking with unsuppressed amusement, a smile on his bearded face. "Not used to the criminal life, madame?"

"Not in such settings," the thaumaturge answered carefully. The guard smirked, and without providing any further response he proceeded down deeper into the prison hold, and the deeper they went the more humid and unsatisfyingly foggy things became. Brecken, stuffing her hands in her pockets, raised an eyebrow as cells at last came into sight after what seemed like an eternity of traversing through the various halls of Wizard City's underground dungeon system. The cells were dark inside, with shadows and fog hiding whatever criminal was confined behind the rusty bars. Not even a silhouette could be distinguished from her distance.

"Ever compare criminals to caged animals, guardsmen?" Brecken asked casually, eyebrow quirked as she scrutinized every object and cell gate they walked by.

"Can't say that I have, madame."

"Never? I would've thought it be the norm amongst your kind. The owner and the pets. When the pets get naughty, to the cage they go." She imitated shoving someone into a cage, clicking her tongue as she locked an imaginary door. The guard once again gave no response, though perceptive young Brecken caught the downturn of his lips as his previously respectful nature faltered with her comment. Instead of continuing the conversation of animals in cages, he asked:

"Mind me asking why you wanted to come down here?"

Brecken shrugged, tapping a finger to her chin nonchalantly. "To meet characters, I suppose. Just because you go to a wizard school with magicians around you doesn't mean you live the interesting life with interesting people."

As the guard opened his mouth to respond, there was a loud clang as some metal object was thrown down on the ground, resounding from further down the hall. Exchanging a glance with his young visitor, the guard rushed toward the noise, Brecken following more slowly, hands still stuffed in her tunic pockets, golden eagle scepter hooked on her forearm. Despite her calm, classic facade, she was curious, intrigued by what had made the noise. She rushed to catch up to the guard.

He had stopped in front of a particularly large cell, lance in hand, a stoic, unreadable expression etched on his face as he stared in front of him. Just behind the bars, a visible outline despite the thick layer of mist, was a girl no older than Brecken was, with long, surprisingly well-groomed hair and a lean, feminine form. Her face, however, was shadowed over, hidden by darkness and mist. Brecken took a tentative step closer to the bars. Still, the face could not be seen.

"I heard ya conversation there, friends." The girls voice had a thick Marleybonian accent, one that could perhaps be described as a feminine version of Arthur Wethersfield's own voice. As she spoke, the girl took a step forward, and Brecken couldn't help but flinch away from the bars. The girl was..._disfigured. _A long scar stretched and curved from the top her her head, nicking her left ear and blinding that eye before crossing over the bridge of her nose to her opposite cheek. It was one jagged mass of twisted pink flesh, an old wound that never healed, a wound that gave her one thing: character.

Scars of that degree were _not _common. Brecken felt mortified yet intrigued at the same time. _What a strange blend of emotions. _

A wide smile spread across her face, spanning from cheek to cheek, obscuring the scar even more. "You said you wanted to meet a character, friend?" There was a certain slyness to the girl's thick voice, full of careful persuasion and deceit. Brecken gave no response.

The guard knelt close to her ear. "She's not a character I'd want to meet, madame. She's a pirate."

"Oh come now, Jarvis," the girl half purred, half-groaned, resting her hands on her hips with a mocking pout on her face. "I ain't as bad as some."

The guard paid her no heed, instead looking intently at Brecken, waiting for her decision on the prisoner's silent proposal. Brecken turned back to the girl, intentionally shrugging to see her response. The prisoner's smile broadened, and from the folds of her large, prison-issued cloth pants, she pulled out a golden coin, which reflected the light of a nearby torch.

"How about a game of chance, then? If it lands on heads, you come in and I'll tell ya a tale or two. If it lands on tails, I'll let you find some other 'character' to pry open. I guarantee none will be as willing as I am." The girl twirled the coin in her fingers, slowly, as if to tempt Brecken into playing her little game. The blue-haired girl eyeballed the coin curiously, her golden eyes twinkling in the half light. Finally, she spoke:

"You're on, criminal."

"Madame, I don't think -" Brecken waved a hand for silence, and Jarvis reluctantly forced back his interjection of 'it's not a good idea, madame', standing back and watching with hard eyes as the sly smile curl the prisoner's lips once again. The prisoner twirled the coin once again before tossing it high in the air, almost to the point of it impacting the stone roof, before it fell back down and landed squarely on her palm. When she unclenched her fingers, the head of a phoenix sparkled, shimmering in such a way that it might have been a metaphor for mocking laughter. The girl looked up and winked.

"Well then, _madame, _I guess I win the game." Mocking. She was mocking both Brecken and Jarvis now, as if they both just fell into a regretful trap. The guard's grip tightened angrily around the shaft of his lance as the prisoner snapped her fingers, ordering him to unlock her cell gate to allow Brecken in.

"Madame, you don't have to." Jarvis once again tried to pull Brecken out of the deal the two had made, but the thaumaturge merely shook her head.

"A deal's a deal, guardsmen. Open the gate." Jarvis at last did as he was told, though all the while he glared angry blue daggers at the scar-faced criminal. She simply winked at him and backed away from the cell bars, hands raised as if to show she was not going to attempt to run away. Brecken proceeded cautiously inside, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her shortsword as mist and darkness devoured her.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Brecken could make out the shadow of a table, along with two chairs. Stale, mold-ridden bread and a pitcher containing an unfamiliar liquid substance sat upon it. A stone bed with a ragged brown sheet sat to the side, looking as if it had hardly been used by the cell's current occupant. Aside from those few things, however, the cell was devoid of any real decoration or conformities, not even a proper toilet or wash system. Brecken was suddenly _very _glad she had a small, rinky-dink dorm rather than a cell.

"Sorry for the mess, love," the prisoner twirled around and opened her arms out in greeting, half-bowing to Brecken. "I'm not used to having visitors."

"I imagine you aren't." The prisoner smirked and sat down in one of the chairs, staring tentatively at the stale bread in front of her. After a moment of thought, she called to Jarvis, asking if some decent food might be brought for "the madame". Moldy bread apparently wasn't suiting for a guest. Jarvis had hesitated, as taking orders from prisoners often caused him to do, but he left anyhow to fetch some more edible food.

Brecken leaned over the table, hands clasping in front of her lips, golden eyes scrutinizing the girl in front of her. "So, what stories can I expect to hear from you?"

"Any and all stories, miss…"

"Winter. Brecken Winter." The prisoner quirked an eyebrow.

"Did you know, miss, that if you replace the first 'e' in Brecken, your name would be Broken Winter?" The prisoner's one, still-seeing deep blue eye twinkled with mischief. When Brecken gave no response, the prisoner shrugged and leaned back in her chair, kicking her feet up on the table. "Just an observation, love. Something you n' I have in common, Winter, is the habit of asking pointless questions, on subjects of animals n' cages n' names."

"You heard that, huh?" Brecken smirked. James smiled and nodded, but before a proper response could be made, Jarvis came with two plates of food, or at least what Brecken thought was food. There were odd, dark mixtures of herbs sitting besides bowls of thick, foul-smelling cream. The guard set the plates in front of the two young girls. While Brecken looked disgusted and even a bit offended by the food laid out in front of her, the prisoner eyed it hungrily. She winked once again at Jarvis and nodded her thanks. She immediately started devouring her meal, and when she noticed Brecken had yet to even pick up her spoon, she laughed, the hearty, jovial sound echoing throughout the cell.

"Not every meal in your life is going to be steak and fries, Winter."

"I know. It's just...even on quests I have better food than this." Brecken wrinkled her nose in distaste. "A few berries found on a bush are more appetizing than this." She shook her head, moved the bowl away from her, then leaned back against the table. The prisoner smirked, taking a swig from her flask of alcohol.

"Ask any question you like, madame."

Brecken thought for a moment, examining the prisoner as she ate, watching her muscles ripple and her scar twitch with every one of her movements. She thought about that golden phoenix coin, about its reflection upon being struck by torchlight.

"The coin." The prisoner looked up curiously from her meal. Brecken stared intently at her from across the table. "Tell me a story about your phoenix coin."

The prisoner smiled. It wasn't her usual smile though. It lacked a certain slyness, a certain deceit. It was simply thoughtful. Soft. "My my, Winter, an odd question right from the start."

The prisoner sat back comfortably in her seat and pulled out the mentioned coin, twirling it. On one side, as previously mentioned, was the head of a phoenix. On the other, a flaming wing. "Your wish, madame, is my command."

* * *

"_It was some odd years ago, eight if I'm not kidding myself. I had just run away from my estate, fast as a centaur on a hunt. I had no money, no food. Nothing but the clothes on my back and a sharp wit of a brain…."_

The sharp snapping of whips from up deck was what woke her. Deep sapphire-colored eyes snapped opened, wide as an owls. She sat up and pulled herself back behind a large crate, pulling up her knotted crimson hair into a messy bun. Sweat was a reflective sheen upon her face and body, covering every part of her pale, bare skin and soaking into her now dingy and foul clothes. She pushed back against a chest, knees pulled to her chest.

The snapping of whips stopped, the sound being replaced by the rushed stomping of feet coming down a small flight of stairs. The girl's breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened impossibly wider. _They got me. They got me this time. _

Of course, the ten-year-old had known it was stretch the moment she first boarded the ship. The captain, she'd heard, was a mage, and all mages had the ability to recognize certain magical signatures. If he'd detected hers, then naturally she'd be found, no matter how well she hid. The sound of rushing footsteps grew louder, and thus closer.

"Squirt's over here, cap'n!"

The girl inhaled deeply, drawing a small, dull knife she'd found on the previous ship. _If I'm going down, I go down in a fight._

Unfortunately for her, it wasn't much of a fight. The moment the crew members had found her, they grabbed her knife by the blade and pulled her with it, holding her hands over her head and forcing her up the stairs to the deck. A tall, bulky man waited for her there, beady green eyes fixed harshly on her round face. She had to look away.

"This is her?" The presumed captain quirked an eyebrow. "She's smaller than I expected. And rugged." He walked slowly over to her, going down on one knee. His voice was low, calm, but edged with an unspoken threat. "What are you doing on my ship?"

Without blinking an eye, the girl said: "Sightseeing."

A few of the younger, more immature men chuckled, not even completely hushing up when the captain glared at them. He turned his attention back to the girl, grabbing her chin to make her look at him. "What's your name, you little brat?"

A moment of hesitance, then: : "Liarisme." It wasn't her real name of course, but a cover, and she purposely pronounced it as "liar is me". More laughs. More cruel stares. A mischievous smile curled the ends of "Liarisme's" plush lips as the captain stood up and crossed his arms.

"Well...Liarisme…" he shook his head at the ridiculousness of such a name. "Do you know what can happen to you for bein' a stowaway on my ship?"

Liarisme tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Why sir, I can't seem to remember. Was it being forced to jump off the plank, or was it getting some food? Why, I do hope it's the latter of the two!"

"Hush your yap, child!" The captain barked, his irritation reaching its peak as even more men joined in the laughing. Liarisme raised her hands in mock defeat.

"Alright, alright. Calm down, captain, before you lose your wits and your hat. I know it's the plank, but how about a deal?"

The captain exchanged a glance with his crew members. When they gave him no certain answer, he turned back to her, eyes narrowed to slits. "What kind of deal?"

"One to grant me a free ride to my destination and to keep my life." Out of all her smart-alec answers, it was her most honest one which won her the most laughter. Setting the girl free because of some possible deal, not to mention giving her ride? It was impossibly and absolutely ridiculous. Liarisme, however, was very serious, and the laughter did not deter her from her request. She looked at the captain straight in the eye despite the overwhelming fear that dwelled within her.

To everyone's surprise - including hers - the captain looked thoughtful. "Very well, girl. How about a game of chance?" He pulled out a sparkling, amber-gold coin, a _phoenix_ coin. "Heads, we take you to wherever you're going, we spare your life, _and _I'll throw in this special coin just for you. Land on tails, however…" The captain ran a hand along his neck, making a squelching noise. Liarisme's eyes lit up expectantly.

"Deal." The captain then flipped the coin, and it flickered like a tiny flame as it spun through the air. It reached higher and higher, and with each half-second a new bead of sweat formed on the girl's head as tension and anxiety built. It seemed like an eternity when the coin finally landed in the captain's hand.

And it landed on heads.

Without a sound, laugh, or look other than that of a knowing smirk, Liarisme swiped the coin up before his hand could close around her new prize. The captain simply stared at her in shock, and her smile broadened.

"I win." Liarisme's whispered teasingly, blue eyes twinkling with mischief. The captain, who was previously tense the entire encounter, finally seemed to relax, and he stood at his full length.

"So it seems." He bowed his head. "_Liarisme, _you won a complicated little game called -"

"Luck." Liarisme winked her signature wink. "I know. I'm very good at playing it, too. It comes naturally. Now, about that destination…"

* * *

"The captain was amazed. He claimed no one was as lucky as he was. I told him the secret was to have a double-headed coin." The prisoner then pulled out a second coin - the one she used to lure Brecken in - and it was just as she had suggested to the captain in the story: heads on both sides of the coin.

"Well then, _Liarisme," _Brecken smirked, eyes sparkling, her eyes reminiscent of the two coins the prisoner held. "That's quite the tall-tale."

The prisoner shrugged. "You asked for a story, sweetheart. Tall-tale or not, I say it how it is."

Jarvis then came into the cell, kneeling close to Brecken's ear. "Madame, Lydia Greyrose needs you," he whispered so the prisoner didn't hear. The thaumaturge hesitated, then nodded, standing from her seat and following him out. She hesitated at the gate, looking over her shoulder.

"I never got your name." The prisoner smiled her same old smile.

"James. My real name is James Heart."

"Well James, you know what you are?" The prisoner shrugged; she was many things. Brecken smiled and winked at her. "A complicated young liar."

"I'm not a liar, Winter." Her sapphire colored eyes sparkled with an odd blend of mischief and seriousness. "What I do, it's not lying. It's making a story of the truth."

With those words ringing in Brecken's ears, the thaumaturge took her leave.

**AN: I decided against going full-blown Scurvy with this 100 theme challenge thing. xP These are two characters who never got any story-time that finally get a crappy one-shot done for them. :D In any case, hope you enjoyed! **

**Review Reply:**

**Majestic War: SCURVY FOR THE WIN INDEED. And don't worry, there'l certainly be more Scurvy to come. :P**

**Next one-shot: Making History**


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